


Fit for a King

by sshomoerotica



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshomoerotica/pseuds/sshomoerotica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy and his weapon; a man and his faults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit for a King

Thor Odinson is ten years old when he discovers a gorgeous hammer in his father’s treasury.

  
“Weapons are simply too barbaric,” Loki mutters, in the prissy, high-pitched voice of a young boy who knows all. “I would rather use my wit to outsmart my opponent.”

  
“We’ll see what you say when you’re smashed to pieces by the spiked ice-club of a Frost Giant.” Thor chides his brother without looking away from the hammer. His voice is somewhat condescending, fitting of a first-born elder prince. He strokes the handle of the weapon, wrapped in leather strips. He tests the heft of it in his hands, dwarfed by the sheer size of the weapon. He is startled to find he cannot lift it; it does not move from its base in a stone outcropping.

  
“That is Mjolnir.”

  
Both young princes jump; the booming voice of their father echoes heavily in the corridor, making Thor’s bones quiver.

  
“’Twas forged in the heart of a dying star.” Odin continues, sweeping down the steps with slow, methodical steps.

  
“It is beautiful, father.” Thor breathes, and even when he and his brother are ushered from the room by their father king, Thor dreams of the hammer’s weight in his hand.

 

* * *

 

When he turns thirteen, Thor is gifted Mjolnir to mark the beginning of being a man. He is nearly giddy with the excitement of it – not a day has gone by where the boy prince has not thought, however fleetingly, of the powerful Mjolnir. Loki, already having been schooled in the arts of magic and, by his own mind, mischief, scoffs and rolls his eyes. Thor can tell, through the façade, that his brother is still impressed, no matter how intellectual Loki strives to be.

  
“I cannot thank you enough for this honor,” Thor breathes, and nearly misses the quick twitch of his father’s lips into a smile. He hefts Mjolnir into his hand, and though it feels worth its weight, he is shocked by the lightness of it.

  
“Only those who are worthy can wield such a mighty weapon.”

  
Thor watches, wondrously, as his father takes the hammer and lays it on the floor. The heavy, metallic _thud_ emanates with the sound of an object ten times the size.

  
“Attempt to heft this hammer, Loki,” Odin invites, and Loki skips forward with a haughty glimmer in his eye. He wraps his fingers around the hammer’s handle – and Thor realizes for a first and not last time that Loki’s hands are slender and unblemished where Thor’s own are rough and large. With a heaving grunt, Loki throws his weight into lifting the hammer, but it does not bulge.

  
“What is this magic?” Loki hisses, already beginning to become a petulant child. Thor smirks as his brother’s more juvenile traits begin to come out – it isn’t often that Loki Odinson acts without maturity and forethought. Odin laughs from his belly, but Thor can see that Loki immediately takes it at laughter at his expense.

  
“None can lift the hammer but myself and your brother, Loki.” Odin explains, but Loki has already begun to march away, brow creased.

  
“I still believe fighting with weapons to be … well, it is _stupid!_ ”

  
“Not all are silver-tongued like you, little brother,” Thor concedes, placing Mjolnir on his belt and stepping after Loki. He puts an arm around his brother’s shoulder and playfully punches at his arm. Though there is but a scant year or so between them, Thor is much stronger, and even the slightest misjudge of strength could severely harm his frailer brother.

  
“It is a talent you could learn from, Thor,” Odin intones, and now it is Thor’s turn to scowl. “Not all conflicts can be resolved with the carnage of a war. The best of kings and leaders know that there is time for fighting, but there is also time for peacemaking and talks.”

  
“But not all deserve to be dealt with as such!” Thor intercedes, excited with the idea of battle. “You were a great leader in a mighty war, father, and look where you’ve given our people! Look at the lasting fear you’ve struck into the hearts of the Frost Giants! Look at the way those of Midgard used to revere you as a god!”

  
“I did what was necessary, nothing more. I did not seek out a bloody conflict, as no good king should. Both Jottenheim and Asgard lost many to the war. I would not seek to put any through that again.”

  
Thor stops listening and experiments with tossing the hammer from hand to hand. He already knows that he will be unstoppable with the power of Mjolnir in hand. He only needs the chance to prove it to his father.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you take that thing with you _everywhere_?” Fandral asks as Thor and The Warriors Three walk across the garden grounds.

  
“What?” Thor asks, following the gaze of his companions. He touches his fingertips across Mjolnir’s blunt edges. “Mjolnir? It is my weapon. No good warrior is ever caught off-guard.”

  
“We’re in the middle of Asgard, Thor,” Volstagg tries. “These are peaceful times. What use is there for a weapon when we’re simply out for a stroll?”

  
Thor flounders. The idea of being without Mjolnir, aside from sleep and bathing, is unfathomable. Like a trusted steed or a loyal pet, Mjolnir is Thor and Thor is Mjolnir. It would be as if to leave without one of his hands.

  
“Boys and their weapons.” Sif sighs from ahead of them, and all talk of Mjolnir and Thor falls to the wayside.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am to be _king._ ”

  
The room is empty. Thor sits on his bed in his nightclothes, staring at his regalia set out for the next day. He holds Mjolnir across his legs, having polished the head and oiled the leather handle. While Loki often teases him for it, Thor has come to speak to Mjolnir like an old friend. It is due to his hammer, and no more, that Thor has done as well as he has in skirmishes gone by.

  
“You have served me well, old friend,” he whispers, and pads across the room to place Mjolnir in its case. Before he puts it down, he raises it in his right hand and holds it out, practicing the very pose he will make as he pledges to serve his people tomorrow, at his ceremony. “To many more years of glory and bloodshed." As if in response, Thor feels the thrum of power within Mjolnir.

  
_A weapon fit for a king._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thor does not understand.

He sits in the mud, aware of the sting of it in his eyes, the thick press of hair against his face. The rain is falling torrentially – a storm he could have controlled, once.

It feels like eons since Thor was home, with Mjolnir in hand—  _Mjolnir_ , Thor anguishes, howling in agony to the heavens. _Why do you spurn me, now of all times?_

  
Thor has not known himself without his hammer for fourteen years. Without Mjolnir, what is his purpose? Where is his worth if he cannot be the one strong enough to heft the power of lightning and thunder?

  
It sinks into him, as he sinks into the mud, that he is truly mortal. His father is a cruel, cruel man to leave the hammer here, in his reach, and yet unattainable. But Thor cannot hate his father. What he said this day, those were words said in the heat and anger of bloodlust. He loves his father, truly he does. How can he not love a man who has bestowed upon him such gifts?

  
Thor sees, now, what his father is trying to teach him. Not everything, not every last part, but he is beginning to see that there is something to be learned here. He is not a child, being sent to the corner as punishment. He is a young, untrained warrior, thrown into the ring and tested for his skills.

  
When the strange men of SHIELD grab at him, Thor does not resist. There is no point, anymore. A light has gone out in him, his fighting strength. For a moment he wishes to be of his brother, Loki, whose strength comes from real skill and talent; brains and the ability to use them. He feels like nothing but a pig-brained warrior, bloodthirsty so long as the power lies in his favor. And now, stripped bare with the weakness of a newborn lamb, Thor opens his eyes and begins to really see.

  
Mjolnir was made for him. Perhaps not literally, but to Thor there is only one reality for the hammer forged of a dying star’s heart. He knows that Mjolnir will wait, patient and immobile, until Thor is ready.

  
Thor will not keep his old friend waiting long.


End file.
